That brave act performed for an utter stranger made the Arrowfield men talk of my uncles afterwards as being of what they called real grit; and all through the winter and during the cold spring months everything prospered wonderfully at the works. We could have had any number of men, and for some time it was dangerous for my uncles—and let me modestly say I seemed to share their glory—to go anywhere near a gathering of the workmen, they were so cheered and hero-worshipped.
But in spite of this good feeling there was no concealing the fact that a kind of ill-will was fostered against our works on account of the new inventions and contrivances we had. From whence this ill-will originated it was impossible to say, but there it was like a smouldering fire, ready to break forth when the time should come.
“Another threatening letter,” Uncle Jack would say, for he generally attended to post matters.
“Give it to me,” said Uncle Bob. “Those letters make the best pipe-lights, they are so incendiary.”
“Shall we take any notice—appeal to the men—advertise a reward for the sender?”
“No,” said Uncle Dick. “With patience we have got the majority of the workmen with us. We’ll show them we trust to them for our defence. Give me that letter.”
Uncle Jack passed the insulting threat, and Uncle Dick gummed it and stuck it on a sheet of foolscap, and taking four wafers, moistened them and stuck the foolscap on the office door with, written above it to order by me in a bold text hand:
“Cowards’ Work.”
and beneath it:
“To be Treated with the Contempt it Deserves.”